


Adventures in Dragonsitting

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Babysitting, Fluff, Married Couple, Other, Pets, Small Mish-co-vish Dragons, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: The team heads out on a mission, and guess who gets to babysit Thistle and Franklin for the day?  A HUGE thank you to OhHeyThereBigBadWolf for allowing me to borrow her original character, Thistle the Bujanga, for this fic!





	Adventures in Dragonsitting

The pages of the Clippings Book fluttered suddenly, urgently summoning the Librarians to come and see the new adventure it had found for them.  Jake, Cassandra and Ezekiel, along with Eve and Jenkins, hurried over to the magic book to scan the various articles pasted there.  According to the clippings, there was something terribly amiss at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Michigan.  The first Model T car produced by Ford was on display at the museum, and some members of the museum staff were now claiming that it had suddenly come to life and was trying its hardest to chase them down and run them over.

“Sounds like it might be a case of possession, or possibly gremlins; they tend to enjoy mucking about with anything mechanical,” mused Jenkins thoughtfully as he studied the articles.  “Though I would expect to find gremlins infesting an active assembly line, not a century-old automobile housed in a museum.”

“Sweet!” growled Jacob, his eyes glowing as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  “After we take care of this bugaboo, I wanna go check out Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion House!”  He looked around the group, and they could almost feel his excitement.

“Fuller designed several versions of it, but all of them were basically factory-manufactured kits,” he began to lecture them.  “They could be easily shipped and assembled on site, and they were intended to be suitable for any environment and to use the local resources efficiently.  And he came up with the name by combining the words ‘dynamic’, ‘maximum’, and ‘tension’ to arrive at the term Dymaxion.  And then he....”

“I very much doubt it’s a _bugaboo_ , Mr. Stone,” interrupted Jenkins, rolling his eyes and shaking his white head.  “They tend to avoid civilization at all costs.  No, I think it might be a gremlin, if anything...”

“Gremlin, bugaboo, members of the Lollipop Guild—who cares?” called Jones as he headed for the Back Door.  “I’m all about popping into Detroit to try some of their famous square pizza!”

“Um, aren’t you guys forgetting something?” asked Cassandra.  The two young men turned to look at her.  Jake shrugged his shoulders, and Cassandra pointed to his desk.  Perched on top of it was their adopted bujanga, Thistle, her toy Tigger clutched to her chest as she watched the activity with wide eyes.

“Aw, man!  I totally forgot we brought her with us today!” Jake moaned.  “I better take her back home, so she won’t be in the way,”

“Jenkins can watch her!” offered Cassandra.

“What?!” the Caretaker yelped, startled.

“We really should get to Dearborn as quickly as possible, before that old car manages to catch someone and hurt them!” Cassandra continued, oblivious to his reaction.

“Er, Cassandra, my dear, perhaps it would be better if...” he began, but she still wasn’t listening. 

“You’ve seen how he is with Franklin, she’ll be fine; _all_ animals love him, almost as much as I do!” she chirped brightly, then stood on her toes to give him a kiss.  “Isn’t that so, sweetheart?”  The immortal blushed at her praise and confidence in him.

“Yes, well...I suppose it would be all right, just for today,” he said.  He really didn’t know that much more about bujangas than they did, but suddenly he simply didn’t want to disappoint Cassandra.  How hard could it be, after all?

Jenkins strode across the room and set the location coordinates on the Back Door and hit the switch to activate it.  The double-doors swung open and brilliant light filled the workroom.  The Librarians and their Guardian stood in front of them, ready to go.

“You sure about this, J?” asked Jacob nervously.  “I can take Thistle home real quick and catch up with the others, it wouldn’t take that long…”

“Nonsense, Mr. Stone,” the immortal countered, determined to see this new charge through.  “Thistle will be perfectly safe here with me, and she has Franklin to keep her company.”  He nodded at the waiting portal.

“Now, the door won’t stay open forever; go!  Concentrate on the mission.  We’ll be fine!”  Ezekiel came up behind Jake and put his hands on the historian’s shoulders.

“Come on, cowboy,” he urged.  “Let the kid stay with the babysitter for a change and go get our librarianing on!  Let’s go!”  He gave Jake a shove and pushed him through the open doors, then followed after him.

“Bye, sweetie!  Hope you have a good day today!” said Cassandra as she quickly kissed her husband goodbye.  “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” he returned, sad to see her go.  “Be careful, Cassandra!  Please!” 

“I will, sweetheart, don’t worry!”  She smiled reassuringly and then ran through the door.

“Look after them, Colonel Baird,” the Caretaker anxiously urged the tall blonde woman as she was about to follow her charges.  In what had become sort of a mission-day ritual between the Caretaker and the Guardian, she paused for a moment and gave him a reassuring look.

“I’ll bring her back, Jenkins, I promise,” she said, then turned and went through the door just before it timed out and shut down.  As his eyes readjusted to the dimmer lighting, Jenkins turned to look for Thistle, but she was gone.  He sighed deeply.  She must be off with Franklin already.  He turned around and headed toward his lab.  He thought it best to get straight to work; hopefully it would distract him and keep him from worrying about Cassandra the entire time she was gone.

He decided to go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea to take to the lab with him.  As he drew close to the kitchen, he heard a hair-raising, eerily human-like scream.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

His heart skipping a beat, Jenkins broke into a run.  He threw open the kitchen and looked wildly around the room, but all he saw was Thistle and Franklin.  Thistle was on the floor and looking up at Franklin, who was perched on the countertop with Thistle’s stuffed Tigger toy clamped firmly in his jaws and dangling it just out of reach of the frantic bujanga.  Thistle was trying to grab her beloved toy, but Franklin kept pulling it out of her reach at the last second.  He thought they were playing a game, but Thistle was clearly upset at not being able to recover Tigger.

“Fran!  Noo!” she cried again piteously, fluttering her wings in agitation.  Franklin merely squealed with delight, the sound slightly muffled by the toy. 

“Thistle!  Franklin!  Stop this at once!” Jenkins ordered sternly.  Two small heads whipped around to face him, and Thistle immediately took up her case with the Caretaker.

“Mista J!” she pleaded.  “Tigger Thistle!  Tigger no Fran!”  Jenkins turned to give Franklin a dour look.

“Franklin!  You know better than that!  Give Tigger back to Thistle!” he ordered, pointing at the upset bujanga.  Though Franklin didn’t understand the words, he _did_ understand that Baí Shān was displeased with him, and that it probably had something to do with him taking the stuffed tiger away from Ji.  But he was only playing a game with Ji; why was she so upset about that?  And now the silly creature had gotten him into trouble with Baí Shān!

Still, his elders in China had drilled it into Franklin that one should always be obedient to the family patriarch, no matter what.  So the little tea dragon jumped down from the counter, lowered his head in submission and crept across the floor.  He carefully deposited the toy on the floor in front of Thistle and then backed away.  As Thistle instantly snatched the tiger up and scooted to hide behind Jenkins’s legs, Franklin grunted sharply and gave her the evil eye, then cast an impertinent glance at the immortal for good measure.  He may have to be obedient, but he _didn’t_ have to like it.

“I saw that, young man!” scolded Jenkins.  He stepped away from Thistle so that he could see the two of them.

“Now, listen to me, both of you,” he said firmly, fixing each animal with a hard look.  “I have a great deal of work to do today, I do _not_ have the time to deal with this nonsense!  You two can either get along civilly or I can…  I can…”  He waved his hands in the air helplessly as he tried to think of a suitable punishment for misbehaving magical creatures, but came up empty. 

“Oh, I don’t know!” he finally spluttered irritably.  “Why don’t you just go and play together— _quietly_ —and leave me to my work?” 

Thistle approached him and laid Tigger on the floor at his feet, her wary gaze never leaving Franklin.  She then looked up into Jenkins’s dark eyes.

“Mista J, Tigger?” she asked.  She then remembered a word that Mum and Punk always used whenever they wanted something done.

“Please?”

Jenkins’s shoulders dropped, and he took a deep breath before bending over to pluck the little toy tiger up from the floor.  _Great_ , he thought grumpily, mentally rolling his eyes.  N _ow I’m babysitting_ stuffed _animals!_

“I’ll watch Tigger for you,” he patiently assured the anxious bujanga, and slipped Tigger into his jacket pocket.  “See?  All safe and sound!  Now go away, I have work to do!”  He then shooed the two little dragons out of the kitchen and set to work making a small pot of tea. 

About ten minutes later Jenkins carried his tea tray into the lab and set it down on the table nearest the door, then reached for his lab coat hanging on its hook by the door.  He took his jacket off, slipped the coat on and headed for his workbench, his attention focused on the to-do list of things he wanted to get done today. 

He paused in midstep, suddenly aware that something wasn’t quite right.  He sniffed the air, then made a face.  What on earth was that _smell_?  It was vaguely familiar, he _should_ know what it is…

As he hurried around the corner, Jenkins was ambushed by two small, foul-smelling black creatures that leaped from the tabletop, both of them screeching shrilly as they attacked him.  One landed on his chest and quickly climbed up onto his shoulder, leaving a huge smear of black-colored tracks against the snow-white fabric of the lab coat.  As soon as it reached his head, it stuck its cold, wet nose into his ear and huffed into it repeatedly with excitement, tickling Jenkins despite his current state of alarm.  The second creature, this one with wings, leaped from the table and onto his other shoulder, leaving a second set of tracks on his coat.  It leaned forward and began to butt its head against the old immortal’s cheek, thickly coating it with the same stinky black substance that now stained his lab coat.

“ _Gah_!” he cried out in disgust and surprise.  Jenkins reached up and seized one of his assailants, knowing instantly that it was Franklin.  He pulled the tea dragon from off of his shoulder and held him out at arms’ length.  The wriggling dragon was covered nearly head to toe with the sticky black goo.  He reached up and grabbed hold of the other bushwhacker, Thistle; she was equally befouled.  Apparently they had mended fences somewhere between the kitchen and the lab.  Both animals squirmed and squealed with satisfaction at the trick they had played on Jenkins.  He stared at them for a moment, trying to figure out what the black gunk was that covered the pair.  Suddenly it struck him.

“Oh, NO—the _squid ink_!” he exclaimed, and then, still carrying the dragons, rushed to the cabinet where he kept a huge stone jar of giant squid ink.  The smell hit him like a wall, and he had to pause a moment to regain control of his gag reflex.  He found the cabinet door standing open, the jar on its side on the floor, squid ink spilling in a huge puddle across the laboratory’s concrete floor.  There were splashes of ink all over the front of the cabinet, the walls and any objects unfortunate enough to be nearby.  Scores of small footprints covered every surface, where the two little dragons had apparently had a grand time playing in the smelly puddle of ink.  Jenkins stood and stared at the mess, his mouth hanging open, aghast.

“Wha--?!  How--?!” he whined, then looked down at the dragons in his arms.  When they saw the look on his face, their enthusiasm instantly died.  Franklin’s ears and side whiskers dropped, and Thistle’s wings drooped.

“Mista J?” she queried, hesitant.  He turned his full attention onto the bujanga.

“Thistle!  What have you two been up to?  How did you get into that cabinet?” he demanded, forgetting for a moment that he was dealing with rather young and immature beings.  Thistle gazed back with large, sorrowful eyes at the angry man.

“Black,” she said quietly.  “Black, fun.”  She leaned forward ever so slightly.  “Mista J black fun?”  Jenkins looked askance at her, scowling.

“ _No_!  No, Thistle, I don’t want to play in the ‘black’!  The black is _not_ fun, especially to clean up!  Bad Thistle! Bad Franklin!  _Bad_!” he barked harshly at her.  He felt her body go limp and begin to tremble against his arm as he held her, and her eyes actually looked as though they were welling with tears.  She lowered her head.

“Thistle bad.  Fran bad,” she repeated mournfully.  Franklin, hearing the angry tone in Baí Shān’s voice, also realized that he and his new friend had done something wrong, and he, too, became quiet and subdued.

Jenkins looked at the pair of them, and suddenly realized how unreasonably he was behaving.  He carried the repentant dragons over to a small side table and set them down.  He looked down at them, his expression softening, and he took a deep, calming breath.

“Thistle, Franklin—I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that, I know you didn’t mean to do anything wrong.  It’s my own fault for not properly ‘dragon-proofing’ the lab.”  The two creatures exchanged puzzled glances, then Thistle looked up again at Jenkins.

“Thistle bad?” she asked, not understanding the man’s long speech at all.  “Fran bad?”  Jenkins was suddenly reminded of some times when he’d unintentionally misbehaved as a boy, a _very_ long time ago.  He smiled despite his irritation, and Thistle’s long ears instantly perked up.

“Thistle no bad,” he said soothingly.  “Fran no bad.  Thistle and Fran... _mischievous_!”  Thistle’s ears stood straight up.  She pushed herself up onto her haunches, and her long tail began to sway back and forth. 

“Thistle mish-co-vish!” she crooned with excitement, thinking that Jenkins had just praised the pair. “Fran mish-co-vish!”  Franklin picked up on her excitement and relief, and he began to hop up and down on the tabletop, chattering and yipping happily, throwing inky droplets all over the room as he slashed his long tail back and forth.  Thistle stood up slightly and began to wriggle on her hindquarters.

“Thistle mish-co-vish!  Fran mish-co-vish!  Thistle mish-co-vish!  Fran mish-co-vish!”  she chanted loudly, as Franklin bobbed up and down and squealed as if in total agreement.  Jenkins swore he could hear a note of pride in her voice.  He broke into a soft chuckle at the pair’s reactions, and reached out with both hands to give each a reassuring scratch behind their gooey ears.

“Yes, yes, you’re both ‘mis-co-vish’ little scamps!” he muttered good-naturedly as he picked them up again.  “And now your poor old Caretaker has to try and scrub this nasty ink off of you before it sets permanently!  I suspect Mr. Stone would be very upset to come back to the Annex and find that he is now the proud mother of a bujanga that looks rather like a miniature Holstein cow!”

He carried them to the large sink in the lab where he washed out his various test tubes and beakers and set them down inside the bowl.  

“Stay!” he ordered them.  Franklin knew the command from his obstacle course training, and obeyed.  Thistle followed the tea dragon’s lead and sat down in the sink. 

He went to a nearby shelf and began rummaging through the many bottles, tins and jars on it, each of them filled with a differently-colored powder or liquid, his brow furrowed in concertation.  After several minutes he let out a triumphant cry.

“Ah-HA!  _Here_ it is!” he said, lifting up a large glass jar with a thick cork stopper and full of a pale blue powder.  He tapped the label as he peered at it.  “This should do the trick!”

He carried the jar over to the sink and set it down, removed the stopper.  The air was filled with a sweet, lilac-like scent.  He put the rubber plug in the sink’s drain and turned on the faucet, setting the water so that it was hot, but not scalding.  While the water was running, Jenkins pulled a drawer open and dug out a small copper scoop.  By then, Thistle and Franklin were splashing each other in the sink and screeching wildly with glee.  Jenkins poured two heaping scoops of the powder into the running water.  Instantly, the water turned a surprisingly bright shade of blue as the powder dissolved, and thick suds began to form. 

Thistle and Franklin stopped their horseplay when they saw the suds and stared at them in astonishment.  Each carefully reached out to touch the fluffy bubbles, then pulled their paws back and looked at the white film clinging to them.  The next thing Jenkin knew, the two little creatures were screaming with delight as they began throwing suds at each other and resumed their water-fight. 

Despite his repeated demands for them to stop, it was only a matter of minutes before he gave up, his clothes and hair soaked and sticking to his skin so that he looked like a drowned rat.  Instead, Jenkins concentrated on getting the ink cleaned off the pair, a task that took him nearly two hours to complete to his satisfaction.  The blue powder (which was also an excellent lime-scale remover) helped tremendously in removing the sticky, stubborn, smelly ink from their skin. 

When the Caretaker was finally finished scrubbing them clean, he dried each one carefully with a thick, fluffy towel.  He then carried them over to the door leading out into the corridor outside of the lab and set them down on the floor.

“Now!” he said sternly, making sure they were paying attention to him.  He looked Thistle in her large, dark eyes.  “Thistle no black!  Fran no black!  Understand?”

“Yes,” replied Thistle, nodding her head solemnly, just as she had seen Mum do sometimes when he talked to Punk.  “No black!”  Jenkins smiled in approval.

“Excellent!” he said.  “Now, you two go play somewhere.”  He waved them off, and the dragons turned to race each other down the hallway without a single look backward.  Jenkins sighed and went back into the lab.  It was going to take him _hours_ to scrub all of that squid ink off of everything.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Jenkins emerged from the laboratory, wet, filthy, tired and smelling like an old giant squid and lilacs.  He put his hands in the small of his back and leaned backward as he tried to ease the ache in his muscles and shoulders.  He shut the lab door to remove any future temptation from his charges, then headed for his rooms to take a nice hot shower and get into some fresh, clean clothes.  And then maybe could _finally_ have a cup of tea.  He’d gotten no more than a dozen steps before he heard yet another high-pitched scream coming from the direction of the workroom.

The immortal changed direction and hurried toward the sound.  Before he reached the workroom entrance, though, he was startled to see a large round object made of milky-white quartz with what appeared to be a large, dark red spot rolling rapidly toward him.  Right behind it was Franklin, shrieking excitedly and he chased the ball of quartz.  Behind Franklin was Thistle, trying to outrun the tea dragon and catch the ball herself.  Just as she stretched out a paw to swat at the quartz, Franklin lashed out and batted the ball so hard that it ricocheted off the wall like a pinball, clattering loudly as it bounced further down the hallway.  Franklin and Thistle hooted and yapped loudly as they jostled each other in their pursuit of the quartz ball.

Jenkins stopped the ball with his foot.  As soon as Thistle and Franklin saw him, they both stopped screaming and skidded to a stop.  Jenkins bent over and picked up the ball they had been chasing; he nearly dropped it again when he recognized it.

“The Stygian Eye?!” he yelped, horrorstruck.  He glared in disbelief at the two little animals and shook the Eye at them.  _“The Stygian Eye?!”_ He took a couple of steps toward Thistle and Franklin, and they both crouched low to the floor.  He stopped as soon as he saw them cringing before him.  For the second time today, he closed his eyes and took a deep, slow, cleansing breath before opening them again.

“Thistle, Franklin,” he said, making his voice as calm and non-threatening as he could, but he couldn’t keep his frustration out of it completely.  He held up the artifact.  “This is _not_ a toy!”  He waited for a response, but the two friends only whimpered softly and tried to crouch even lower.  Jenkins rolled his shoulders as he took another deep breath and tried again, speaking even more softly this time.

“This is _not_ a toy.  This is an _artifact_.  This is _dangerous_.  You could get hurt!”  Thistle traded glances with Franklin, then turned back to Jenkins.

“No toy,” she repeated quietly.  “Art-fac.”  She paused for a moment, as if thinking.  “No play art-fac?” 

“Exactly!  No play art-fac,” Jenkins confirmed, relieved that the little bujanga seemed to understand him.  “No toy, no play!”  Thistle looked again at Franklin, then back at Jenkins.

“Thistle play Fran?” she asked timidly.  The Caretaker felt a stab of guilt; he hadn’t meant to frighten them, just keep them—and the artifacts—safe.  He nodded and smiled.

“Yes, of course you can still play with Franklin,” he assured her.  Thistle perked up immediately.  With a loud squeal, she turned and ran back toward the workroom. 

“Mish-co-vish!  Mish-co-vish!” she hollered.  Franklin jumped up and followed her, his claws clicking as he raced to catch up with his friend. 

Taking the Stygian Eye with him, Jenkins shook his head in exasperation and resumed his way to his suite for that desperately-needed hot shower and clean clothes.

 

* * *

 

Jenkins stepped into the hallway feeling like a new man.  He was finally clean, his clothes were dry and comfortingly crisp—and it was time for that damn cup of tea. 

He first made a quick trip to return the Stygian Eye to its display.  To his dismay, however, he soon discovered that not only had the miscreants gotten into the display case of the Eye, they had also gotten into the large box of hen’s teeth and scattered the tiny incisors everywhere.  As the Caretaker crawled around on his hands and knees, carefully gathering up each of the 1,764 miniscule teeth with a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass, he rounded the end of a large display case and found yet another stop on the pair’s trail of destruction.  To his absolute horror, Thistle and Franklin had discovered the Library’s potted spaghetti tree, and had had a wonderful time throwing the ripened spaghetti all over the room.  There were clumps and strands of spaghetti everywhere—hanging over shelving and furniture, stuck to the walls, dangling from the light fixtures. 

Jenkins sat back on his heels and sighed heavily as he took in the mess.  It was his own fault, though; he should’ve transplanted that damn tree into the Heart of the Library ages ago.  If only it didn’t produce some _the best_ pasta he’d ever tasted...! 

He shook his head and got to work putting the room back to rights again.  Two hours later he finally headed for the kitchen, determined to get that long-overdue cup of tea.  Suddenly he stopped.  Where were Thistle and Franklin?  He cocked his head and listened carefully for several minutes, but didn’t hear anything untoward.  He dearly wanted the tea, but he was gun-shy, now.  Thistle and Franklin were too quiet!  He decided it would probably be wise to go and see what those two little hooligans were up to.

He strode into the workroom and quickly looked around, but there was no sign of either creature.  But something wasn’t quite right, he could feel it.  Frowning, Jenkins looked around the room again, more carefully this time, and then it struck him—the lighting was...strange.  The shadows seemed to be dancing slightly along the floor and walls.  He raised his head to look at the ceiling.

 _“Iesu Grist!”_ he swore loudly in his native tongue, his eyes about to pop out of his head.  High above him was Franklin and Thistle, dangling from one of the massive chandeliers by nothing more than Thistle’s strong prehensile tail.  She was clutching Franklin around his middle with her forepaws, the little tea dragon precariously suspended high over the hard floor of the Annex with nothing to catch him should he slip from her grasp.  As if that wasn’t dangerous enough, the two of them were trying to use their combined weight to set the massive chandelier swinging.  Jenkins bolted for the spiral staircase.

“STOP!  Thistle!  Stop!  Stop this at once!” he bellowed, panic-stricken, as he flew up the steep stairs.  The mezzanine was as high as he could go, but it wasn’t nearly high enough to reach them.  He had no idea how he was going to rescue them.  How on earth had they gotten that high in the first place?  Jenkins knew that bujangas were deft climbers, but he never dreamed that they could scale sheer walls!

“Thistle!  Franklin!  Stop!  _Please_ , Thistle, stop!” he begged, terrified that Franklin would fall to his death.  Both dragons turned their heads to look at him. 

“Mista J!” Thistle called back happily.  Franklin hooted loudly with excitement.  Jenkins could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer against his breastbone.

“Thistle, come down, _please_!” he called.  “Please!  Bring Franklin down!”  The bujanga detected the fear in the old human’s voice.  Mum and Punk sometimes sounded like that when she climbed out too far on a limb of the crabapple tree outside of their den.  She had come to the conclusion that humans must not be very good climbers to be so afraid of a silly thing like a thin branch.  But then, humans didn’t have wings; maybe _that’s_ why they were so afraid of heights.  Poor humans...

“Mish-co-vish!” she responded, almost cheerfully.  She tightened her hold on Franklin, then let her tail go limp.

“NO!!” screamed Jenkins, his heart stopping dead in his chest as the bujanga and her burden dropped from the chandelier like stones.  As soon as she was clear of the light fixture, she opened her wings and turned her body so that it was horizontal to the floor.  She flapped her wings gently and glided through the large space above the Annex workroom, swooping and ducking, dropping and climbing, slaloming among the chandeliers like a stunt pilot.  The whole time, Franklin screamed and shrieked with joy at the sensation of flying through the air, just like a real sky dragon. 

But as they passed Jenkins, white as a sheet and still frozen in place on the mezzanine, his arms stretched out uselessly to try and catch them, Franklin saw the look of absolute terror on the old human’s face.  Feeling a little guilty for frightening his adoptive father so badly, Franklin chirruped to Thistle, and she began to descend, slowly circling as they gradually spiraled downward.  Jenkins turned and rushed down the stairs, then paced beneath them as he impatiently waited for them to come within reach.  As soon as he could, Jenkins reached high over his head and plucked Franklin from Thistle’s paws.  A few seconds later, the little bujanga dropped lightly onto Jake’s desk, shook her wings out and then folded them neatly against her body.

“Fun!” she purred.  Jenkins gave Franklin a quick once over, checking the squirming little tea dragon for any injuries, but he found nothing.  Relief washed over him as he turned Franklin loose, and Jenkins dropped into the nearest chair before his knees could buckle beneath him.  As the two dragons began to wrestle playfully on Jake’s desk, knocking various items onto the floor in the process, the Caretaker buried his face in his hands for a moment and waited for his heart and head to stop pounding.

“The Library does not pay me _nearly_ enough for this!” he grumbled to himself.  He rubbed his face and then slapped his hands against his thighs as he stood up.  The two dragons paid no attention to him, Franklin having by now gotten Thistle in a headlock and chewing on her ear.

Jenkins went over to the desk and grabbed each dragon by the scruff of his and her neck and pulled them apart.  He then scooped each loudly protesting beast up in one arm and started off for the kitchen.

“No more unsupervised activities for you two _ever again_!” he proclaimed.  Thistle twisted her head around to look at him.

“Mista J?” she said, squirming a bit in his hand.  He held her more tightly.

_“Never again!”_

 

* * *

 

Jenkins set the two down on the kitchen floor and ordered them to stay put.  The tone of his voice told them that he was serious, and so the pair of dragons tried to sit quietly and watch as the immortal, for the second time that day, moved about the kitchen to make tea, but within minutes they were rolling around on the floor, each snapping at the other’s tail as they tried to catch it in their jaws. 

When the tea was ready, Jenkins poured himself a large mug and set it on a small tray, along with a plate of homemade gingersnaps that Cassandra had made earlier in the week.  He picked up the tray and turned to the rowdy animals.

“Thistle, Franklin; follow me!” he instructed.  They dutifully fell in behind him, hurrying to keep up with his long, determined strides as he led them to the Library’s theater.  He set the tray down on an end table and then pointed to the large, overstuffed sofa.

“Up!” he commanded, and they obeyed.  Thistle and Franklin watched curiously as Jenkins turned on the large, flat-screen television and the dvd player.  He pulled open a drawer crammed full of various dvds, slowly dragging a long finger over the spines of the cases until he finally found what he was looking for.

“Ah!” he crowed softly in satisfaction as he pulled if from the drawer and opened the case.  He dropped the silvery disc into the player, queued it up to a particular scene, hit the “play” button, then walked over to drop wearily onto the sofa.

“Now, Thistle, you sit here,” he muttered, placing the bujanga on his left side.  “And Franklin, you sit over _here_.”  He plopped the little tea dragon on his right.  The Caretaker pointed to the screen.

“Watch!”

Two pairs of eyes followed his finger to look at the screen. Suddenly, an animated movie came on, and the little creatures’ eyes widened with surprise and delight.  Soaring across the large screen were _dragons_!  All sorts of dragons—big dragons, small dragons, dragons of all colors and design, it seemed, and all of them playing with humans.  Thistle and Franklin forgot all about Jenkins as they stared at the action on the screen.  Jenkins sighed with relief and took a long, soothing sip of his tea.

Suddenly there appeared on the screen a long, sleek, feline-looking dragon, jet-black in color, with large, bat-like wings and big green eyes.  Jenkins smiled as he watched his companions lean forward, making soft whirrs and whines of interest.  Jenkins chuckled to himself and settled back into the sofa and made himself comfortable.  He was glad now that he’d let Cassandra talk him into keeping that silly children’s movie, even though it taught absolutely nothing useful about how one should train a dragon.  The very idea itself was preposterous; Western dragons simply _couldn’t_ be trained.

Jenkins yawned and stretched his tired arms, took another sip of tea.  He laid his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment.  Really, now—who in their right mind would even want to try and train a dragon?  Though, the immortal considered drowsily, if one were to somehow acquire an egg, thus allowing the hatchling to imprint on one, he supposed that _then_ one could safely attempt to tame and train a dragon.  He snorted, dismissing the idea as not only ludicrous, but suicidal as well— _especially_ where a Night Fury was concerned!  Thank goodness that the Library had the last pair of _those_ safely tucked away in the Endangered Animals Enclosure…

 

* * *

 

A quiet, low buzzing sound caught Franklin’s attention.  He turned to find its source and discovered that it came from Baí Shān; he was fast asleep, his white head lolling against the back of the sofa, his mouth slightly open as he snored.  Franklin watched the snoozing immortal for a few minutes to make sure he really was asleep, then the tea dragon turned eagerly to the tray of tea and cookies right beside him.  He climbed up onto the end table and stuck his snout into the mug, then proceeded to slurp up nearly all of the now lukewarm tea, making a soft smacking sound when he was finished.  He greedily snatched one of the cookies from the plate, climbed back down to make himself comfortable in the crook of Jenkins’s limp arm, and began to gnaw on his prize, crumbs falling all over the front of him and Jenkins in the process.  Franklin yipped quietly with happiness as he munched on the normally forbidden treat.

Thistle turned to watch her friend as he helped himself to Jenkins’s tea and cookies.

“Mish-co-vish!” she murmured to herself.  She saw the cookie in Franklin’s little paws and became curious.

“Fran?” she inquired, careful not to be too loud.  Mista J was napping, and she had learned a long time ago with Punk that it was _bad_ to disturb a napping human.  Franklin shoved the rest of his gingersnap into his mouth and reached around to grab another one.  He leaned over Jenkins’s stomach to hand the treat to his friend, making quiet little clacking sounds of encouragement as he did so.

Thistle examined the round, flat object closely.  It was brown and hard and rough-textured, almost like a nut.  She sniffed it; it didn’t smell like anything she’d ever eaten before.  What kind of fruit _was_ this?  Tentatively, she stuck out her long tongue to lick it.  Ooo!  It was so hard and rough!  And the taste was so strange—it tasted like…burning!  Not a _bad_ burning, like fire, just an unpleasant tingling sensation on her tongue.  She looked over at Franklin again.  He was happily gobbling down another of the strange fruits. 

Thistle pondered for a moment.  It must be _good_ fruit, otherwise Franklin wouldn’t be eating them so fast.  She licked it again, and this time she could taste some sweetness along with the tingle.  It made her mouth water in response, so she tried putting the fruit into her mouth, like Franklin was doing, but the slightly bitter taste only became stronger.  She took the fruit, now soaked with bujanga saliva, out of her mouth and held it in front of her.  She didn’t like this fruit, she decided, but she didn’t want to openly reject it; that would’ve been terribly rude, so she licked it occasionally and pretended to enjoy the slowly softening gingersnap.

 

* * *

 

As the sun began to sink below the treeline that evening, the Back Door glowed to life and swung open.  The Librarians and their Guardian stumbled through it into the Annex, tired, full of pizza and happy that they’d successfully completed their mission.  It hadn’t been a gremlin at all, just a small, relatively weak poltergeist that had been causing all the problems at the museum.  Fortunately, Cassandra always carried a copy of Madame Blavatsky’s Little Book of Exorcisms in her purse.  Using just a bit of binding magic, Cassandra had been able to trap and seal the spirit within a nearby fire extinguisher. 

Jenkins wasn’t there to greet them on their return, and while Cassandra was disappointed, it wasn’t unusual.

“Let me have the fire extinguisher, Eve,” said Cassandra as she dropped her purse onto her desk.  “I’ll take it to Jenkins so he can catalog it later.  He’s probably in the lab.”  Baird handed her the Library’s newest artifact, trying not to smile at her younger woman’s eagerness to see her husband again. 

“Tell him we’re having the debriefing in thirty minutes!” she called out after Cassandra.  The Librarian waved in acknowledgement without looking back as she disappeared into the corridor.

Meanwhile, Jake walked around the room looking for Thistle.  Not finding her anywhere in the workroom, he started to head out into the hallway to look for her when Cassandra almost bowled him over as she burst back into the workroom at full tilt.

“Eve!  Jake!  Ezekiel!” the Librarian called out breathlessly as she skidded to a stop.  All three looked at her quizzically. 

“Come with me!  All of you!  You _have_ to see this!”  Cassandra urged them, panting. 

“Why?  What is it?” Baird asked, instinctively going on alert. 

“Just come and see, all of you!” Cassandra repeated, a huge grin on her face.  She grabbed the tall woman’s hand and practically dragged her through the labyrinthine corridors of the Library, the two young men on their heels.

“Cass, _what_ is this all about?” the Guardian complained after several minutes.

“Shhh!  We’re here!” Cassandra informed her, whispering, and Eve realized they were now outside the door to the Library’s theater.  She could hear the muffled sound of the television on the other side of the door.  The Librarians and the Guardian looked over at Cassandra expectantly.

“What…?” Ezekiel began agitatedly, but Cassandra held her finger up to silence his question.  She turned the doorknob and carefully pushed the door open just enough to poke her head inside.  A huge grin spread across her face again and she quickly waved the others into the room, warning them to be quiet. She silently pointed in the direction of the large sofa in front of the television.

Eve slipped into the theater first and looked in the direction Cassandra had indicated.  Instantly, Baird softly clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter at the sight that greeted them:  Slumped into the sofa was Jenkins, fast asleep, his stockinged feet propped up on the coffee table.  In the crook of his right arm was Franklin, splayed out like a small child and leaning comfortably back against the man’s shoulder.  In the crook of his left arm was Thistle, in a similar position.

The television was playing “How to Train Your Dragon”.  The little tea dragon was helping himself to the last of the cookies from Jenkins’s nearby tea tray as the immortal napped, and Franklin clutched it tightly in his tiny paws as he messily munched on the ill-gotten sweet.  Jenkins’s chest and stomach were covered with cookie crumbs.  Thistle also held a cookie in her paws, but she seemed perplexed by it, licking it occasionally as she watched the movie.

Thistle and Franklin were completely engrossed in what was happening on the television, each with their large eyes hardly leaving the screen.  As the two small animals watched and snacked, the humans could hear them making soft trills and warbles as Toothless and his friends soared through the sky during the final scenes of the battle with Red Death.  It sounded to the humans as though the two were having a conversation as they watched the film, commenting and reacting to what they were watching, like a pair of movie critics.  Jenkins dozed blissfully on, completely oblivious. 

It was all Cassandra and the others could do to remain quiet.  Behind her, she could hear Eve and Ezekiel stifling their own laughter and punching each other’s arms.  Cassandra whirled around and dragged Eve back into the corridor.

“Omigod, Eve—is that not the _cutest_ thing you’ve ever seen!” she whispered loudly to the Guardian.  She peeked back into the theater to make sure Jenkins was still asleep, then turned back to Eve and slapped the Guardian’s arm, her eyes wide and sparkling.  “Omigod, Jake’s getting _video_ of it!”

The two women hurried back inside.  Jake, indeed, had his phone out and was recording video of the two moviegoers and their Caretaker, Ezekiel giving him wildly gesticulated directions in between fits of muffled laughter.  As Jake moved slowly around to get a side-angle shot,

Suddenly, Franklin sneezed, loudly and explosively, spraying half-chewed gingersnap fragments all over the sofa and Jenkins. 

“HUH…!”  At the loud sound, Jenkins snorted awake.  He began to pull himself upright on the sofa, but stopped when he saw the gooey debris field of cookie chunks scattered across the front of his suit and the lap of his trousers. 

“ _What_ on _earth_ …?!” he started to mutter in confusion.  He turned his head and saw Thistle gazing at him quietly with large, soft, owlish eyes, a soggy gingersnap in her paws.  She purred and blinked her eyes once while lightly fluttering her one free wing.  He turned to the opposite side and found Franklin staring back at him, still grasping his half-eaten cookie.  The tea dragon began to squeal happily, his tail swishing back and forth now that Jenkins was awake again.  The immortal gawked at Franklin for a moment, then at Thistle.  He looked over at his tea tray and saw that all of the cookies he’d placed there earlier were gone now.  He looked back and fixed a stern gaze on Franklin.  None of the trio had yet noticed Jake or the others, and the Librarian kept recording.

“Frank-li-i-i-n…!” Jenkins rumbled ominously.  “What mischief have you been up to, you little scoundrel?”  Cassandra felt a flutter of uneasiness; surely Jenkins wouldn’t actually _punish_ Franklin—would he?  She debated with herself as to whether or not she should say something.

“Mish-co-vish!” Thistle said.  As Jenkins turned his head to look at her, Thistle suddenly made a low hooting sound and fluttered her wing again, more vigorously this time.  She held out the mushy cookie in her paws to him.

“Mista J, fruit!” she chirped, not wanting him to entirely miss out on the treats.  When he hesitated, she repeated her offer.  “Mista J, _fruit_!”  It was customary for her kind to strengthen bonds of family and kinship by regularly offering and accepting gifts from one another, especially food items; it was a symbol of one’s willingness to sacrifice one’s own wellbeing for the other.

Thistle fluttered her wings again and watched him anxiously to see if he would accept her gift.  She was still new to this family, and was eager to build and strengthen bonds with all of her new family members.  Everyone else was watching, too, waiting with baited breath to see what the curmudgeonly old Caretaker would do next.  Only Franklin seemed unconcerned as he shoved the rest of his cookie into his mouth and tried to chew it, large chunks cascading out of both sides of his muzzle.

The sixth sense that made Jenkins so gifted with animals warned him that whatever he did next was going to be _very_ important.  He looked down at the cookie in his hand and then back at Thistle.  The bujanga was now showing visible signs of distress.

 _“Mista J!  Fru-u-u-it!”_ she said again, this time in an almost pleading tone.  The cookie was so soaked with bujanga saliva that it began to ooze between her claws as she gripped it.

Jenkins looked her directly in the eyes, then held out one large hand.  Thistle gingerly laid the gooey mess in his palm, then looked apprehensively up into his dark brown eyes.  Without a moment’s hesitation, Jenkins popped the whole thing into his mouth, much to the stunned horror of his unseen audience.

“Mmmmmmm!” he enthused, smiling brightly.  Thistle immediately closed her big eyes and began a series of chattering whirs and clicking sounds, spreading her wings and shaking her head like a wet dog in her happiness and relief.  She climbed up onto her hind legs and stretched her head up to nuzzle the old Caretaker’s cheek affectionately.

“ _Love_ Mista J!” she murmured.  Franklin gave a squawk at seeing how happy his new little friend was.  Jenkins smiled and cleared his throat, coughed self-consciously as emotion tried to creep in and form a lump there.

“And Mista J loves Thistle,” he answered quietly, raising his arm to gently cuddle the little beast and scratch behind one of her ears.  She leaned into his fingers and sighed loudly with pleasure at the exquisite sensation.  Franklin, not wanting to be left out, bounced up and licked Jenkins’s other cheek before trying to stick his crumb-coated snout into the old immortal’s ear; chuckling, Jenkins began scratching behind the tea dragon’s ears, too, much to Franklin’s delight.

“And I love _you_ , too, you little rapscallion!” he rumbled teasingly.

Thistle caught movement in her peripheral vision and quickly turned to see what it was.

“Mum!  Punk!” she cried as soon as she saw her “parents”.  She scrambled out of the crook of Jenkins’s arm and over his shoulder, then leaped from the sofa-back and into Jake’s arms, almost knocking his phone from his hand.  She reached up to brush his stubbly jaw with one paw, then she climbed up to perch on his shoulder, her long tail twining itself around his upper arm.

“Hey, honey!” he greeted her as he scratched her neck, then turned back to Jenkins.  “ _Damn_ , J!  I can’t believe you _ate_ that nasty thing!”

“Thistle mish-co-vish!”

By then Jenkins had quickly hauled himself up from the sofa, scattering cookie crumbs everywhere in the process.  He brushed the front of his suit of the remaining bits and began self-consciously straightening his jacket and tie.  Franklin was crouching on the sofa’s arm, shifting his weight back and forth on his hind legs as he prepared to launch himself upward.

“Yes, well, it simply seemed like the appropriate thing to do,” spluttered the immortal, embarrassed at having been caught in the act of being anything less than stern and in control of his surroundings.  With Cassandra or even Eve it was one thing; with the young men it was something else entirely.  He raised his head and glared at the young people.  “And how long exactly have you all been spying on me?” 

“Just long enough!” grinned Jake, giving the irritated man a wink.  He held up his phone to show Jenkins that the whole thing had been recorded, much to Jenkins’s dismay.  He was so distracted by having been recorded that he didn’t even notice when Franklin leaped up and landed perfectly on his shoulder and wrapped his tail loosely around the immortal’s neck.

“Blasted, intrusive modern technology!” he grumbled loudly, still fussing with his clothes.  “Now I remember why I locked myself in the Annex decades ago and threw away the key in the first place!” 

Cassandra hurried over to try and smooth his ruffled feathers.  She slipped her arms around him and stood up on tiptoe to give him a quick peck on the cheek.  He instantly put an arm around her waist and held her close, the irritation fading quickly from his face.  She leaned over and grabbed the remote control to turn off the movie.

“Come on, you,” she said lightly.  “Let’s go get you a fresh cup of tea, and you can tell us _all_ about your day!”

 

* * *

 

Several minutes later, Cassandra, Eve, Jake, Ezekiel and Jenkins were seated around the kitchen table, a hot cup of tea in front of each one.  On the floor nearby, Thistle and Franklin were wrestling playfully with each other while the humans talked.  The Librarians and the Guardian listened as Jenkins recounted his day with his two charges, his recital frequently interrupted by bursts of laughter and good-natured teasing.  Now that everyone was safely back in the Annex—especially Cassandra—Jenkins felt much more relaxed.  He could now see the humor in some of the situations he’d experienced.  He even chuckled at Jake’s video replay of Jenkins napping while Thistle and Franklin ate his cookies and watched the movie.

Eve decided to push back the mission debriefing to first thing the next morning.  It was getting late; she needed to get home to Flynn, and the boys needed to get Thistle home.  The little bujanga was now curled up with Franklin on the floor at Ezekiel’s feet, fast asleep.  The thief gently disentangled the two worn-out little dragons and picked up a yawning Thistle, while Cassandra took a grumpy Franklin and cuddled him against the front of her shoulder.

After Jake retrieved Tigger from the lab where Jenkins had left his first suit coat, Cassandra walked Eve and the boys to the Back Door and saw them off while Jenkins cleared the table and washed up the dishes.  By the time she got back to the kitchen, he was just finishing drying and putting away the tea things. 

“Sounds like you had quite a day!” she said quietly, so as not to disturb Franklin.  Smiling, Jenkins nodded and then leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“Yes, indeed,” he murmured, then sighed as he put the mugs back into the cabinet.  “Perhaps a little _too_ eventful.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, detecting a worried tone in his voice now.  Jenkins laid the dish towel on the countertop and turned to face his wife.

“What I mean is, I have a hard enough time keeping up with just Franklin,” he explained, a look of concern coming to his face.  “I don’t think I can keep up with _two_ creatures as energetic and inquisitive as Thistle and this one are.”  He nodded at the sleeping tea dragon in her arms. 

“They got themselves into some very serious situations today.  The squid ink might have made them ill had they ingested any of it.  They night have decided to play with an artifact that could’ve killed them, or _worse_ , and I wouldn’t have even known about it until it was too late.  And the incident with the _chandelier_ …!”  The large man shuddered. 

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to refrain from volunteering to ‘babysit’ for any future playdates.”  He squared his shoulders and spoke with studied unconcern as he fussed nervously with his shirt cuffs.   “I simply can’t keep up anymore, I’m afraid.  I’m just…not as young as I used to be, I guess.” 

Sympathy—and a little guilt—filled Cassandra’s blue eyes.  It was her fault Jenkins had been put through the wringer today.  She stretched her free hand up and brushed his soft, cool cheek.

“I don’t believe that for a minute, sweetheart,” she said.  “You’re not too old, they’re just too young!  They’ve got all this energy to burn, and they’re so much alike temperament-wise that they just feed off of each other.  Franklin never gets into so much trouble when he’s here alone.  And Jake says that Thistle is very well-behaved when she’s alone at their place.  They’re just like small human children, sweetie:  Once they’re together, they just can’t help but get into trouble.   Seeing the doubtful look on her husband’s face, she tried another tack.

“All you needed was some help with the babysitting,” she said.  “You can’t expect to be able to keep up with those two in a place the size of the Library—it’s just too much for one person, even you!  And the rest of us should’ve realized that, too.  I shouldn’t have volunteered you like that, and we shouldn’t have just dumped it all on you, and I apologize for that.”  She grabbed his hand and playfully shook back and forth.

“The next time the boys have to leave Thistle here, one of us will stay to help you,” she said.  “I’ll bring it up tomorrow at the debriefing.  I’m sure the others will be more than willing to agree.”

“But if a mission requires _all_ of you…or if even _I_ have to accompany you all on a mission...” he began to protest.

“Then we’ll sit down after the meeting tomorrow and come up with contingency plans,” she said, then tilted her head thoughtfully to one side.  “Maybe we can create a special room in the Library for them—kinda like a nursery, just for Thistle and Franklin?  I know you don’t want to keep Franklin in a pen or a cage of any kind, but this wouldn’t be like that.  It’ll be a space that’s ‘dragon-proofed’ so that we can keep them in there only whenever we can’t directly watch over them.  That way we know they’ll be safe and they won’t be getting into anything they shouldn’t be getting into.  How does that sound?”  Jenkins’s somber face instantly brightened.

“I think that’s a splendid idea, my dear—I wonder that I didn’t think of it myself!” he exclaimed, breaking into a smile.  He leaned down to give her a quick but affectionate kiss.  “I _knew_ there was a reason why I married you!”

“Hey!” she huffed, and swatted his arm.  Jenkins looped her arm around his and began to lead her to their suite.

“Do you think we could create a nursery for Mr. Jones and Mr. Stone, as well, while we’re at it?” he mused as they walked through the corridors.  Cassandra giggled.

“Oh, right,” she said cynically.  “And then you would conveniently ‘lose’ the key to the door once you had them inside!  I don’t think Eve would buy that!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied airily.  “Who’s to say that _Colonel Baird_ wouldn’t be the one who conveniently ‘loses’ the key, hmmm?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The Spaghetti Tree is real--go google it and see!


End file.
